


Recapture the Magic

by rainbowbaz



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: (more like old enemies to lovers), Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Matchmaking, POV Simon, Post-Book: Carry On, Post-Canon, Post-Watford (Simon Snow)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-02 22:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13328145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowbaz/pseuds/rainbowbaz
Summary: “If you don’t meet your spouse at Watford, Penny says, you could end up alone – or going on singles tours of Magickal Britain."Ten years after Watford, Simon is lonely and magic-less, and ends up doing exactly what he vowed he would never do - going on a singles tour of Magickal Britain. The only problem is that out of all the mages in England, he's been matched with Baz Pitch, who seems just as moody, rude and annoyingly attractive as he used to be.





	Recapture the Magic

> _“If you don’t meet your spouse at Watford, Penny says, you could end up alone – or going on singles tours of Magickal Britain.” - Carry On by Rainbow Rowell.  
>  _

 

“Simon, don’t give me that look. I thought it was a good idea.”

“It’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard in my entire life!” I shout, narrowing my eyes at Penny’s pixelated face on my computer screen. “I’m not going on one of those stupid singles tours of Magickal Britain. We used to take the piss out of them back at Watford, that it was only old saddos that go on those.”

“Yeah, I know, Simon, but that was then. Things are different now. And I know you’re not old, but…” She sighs, the way she usually does when she finds something difficult to put gently. I brace myself. “I hate thinking of you being all lonely out in London by yourself. It’s not healthy.”

“I’m not lonely.”

Her face softens; a mixture of compassion and pity that makes my stomach twist. “You are, though.”

I almost slam my laptop lid shut, because everyone feeling sorry for me all of the time is just so maddening.  I used to be the fucking Mage’s Heir, for Crowley’s sake, with an attractive girlfriend and a gleaming future ahead of me, and now I can’t even find someone that fancies me enough for a second date.

My fists clench, nails digging into the cushion of my worn-out sofa, and the words spill out before I can bite my tongue. “Well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you pissed off to America.”

“You don’t mean that,” she says with a tone more gentle than I deserve, and I know that she’s right.

“No. I don’t.”

Silence. I watch Penny, head resting in her hand as she chews on her lip, and _Crowley,_ I miss her. I really do. And I wish she was here so that she could fix this mess, just like she always does. Like she always used to back at Watford.

Penny breaks the silence. “Look, Simon. Just think about the tour, okay? It might do you some good.”

“Alright,” I sigh, raking a hand through my hair, and I look up at her again. “I’m sick to death of seeing your face all blurry, you know. I wish you were here.”

“You’ll see me soon,” she says, smiling sadly. “And not just on your laptop. In real life, I swear.” And then it turns into more of a cheeky grin, as she adds, “But I have one condition.”

“What?”

“You have to be with someone _really_ hot that you met on this stupid tour.”

She cackles and hangs up, probably to go and kiss her husband or just bask in the glory of her successful, fulfilling, perfect life. I roll my eyes, groaning as I lift myself up from my slouch on the sofa, and hover my fingers over my trackpad, guiding it to the link that Penny sent me.

Out of pure curiosity, I click the link, watching Internet Explorer pop up onto my screen and load the webpage.

 _‘MAGICKAL BRITAIN TOURS!’,_ the obnoxiously large title reads. I scroll down the page, past the tacky photos of cheesy grins and clip-art hearts, attempting to find some real information. Two nights in a hotel… free meals… tours around some of the most famous magickal sights… and, of course, the promise to meet your perfect match.

It may be tragic, and hopelessly embarrassing, but would going on one of these tours be that bad? What’s the worst that could happen? There’s no guarantee that I will actually meet my so-called _“perfect match”,_ but that barely matters to me, because I’m beginning to doubt that such a person even exists, anyway.

At least I could feel magic for a weekend. Because I haven’t felt it for a while, and I miss the prickle of it on my skin. And I could even go back to Watford… the place where I left my heart, the only place where I’ve ever belonged.

 _Fuck it._ I click the button to purchase a ticket, entering my bank details before I have the chance to change my mind.

I can already imagine Penny’s smug face when I tell her I’m actually going.  

 

-

 

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Yet, here I am – stood at the platform, waiting for the 11:06 train, where the love of my life could be waiting for me. Not that I’m getting my hopes up, or anything – but it would be nice, wouldn’t it?

Merlin, Penny and I would be having a field day with this when we were teenagers; it’s so tragic that we would’ve hardly believed it. Me, Simon Snow, on a bloody singles’ tour. It would have been hard for us to believe.

But things are different than the way they were supposed to be. Agatha and I never got married – we didn’t even last until the end of Eighth Year. And nobody Normal ever really appealed to me after Watford. There was just something missing; something that nobody could ever give me.

Magic. It’s tethered so tightly to my bones - a weight refusing to lift - that I can’t imagine being with anyone that isn’t a mage. And if it takes this stupid train tour to achieve that, then fuck it. I’m well past the age of embarrassment, and at least it would be a funny story to tell the grandkids, right?

 _11:06._ Out of thin air, the train appears on the tracks in front of me, the hiss of the brakes the only sound I hear. My mouth quirks up at the corner, spreading into a full grin as I turn around to see the reactions of the Normals on the platform.

Nothing. They continue to read their newspapers, reply to their text messages, sip their coffee. Blissfully unaware of the World of Mages being right before their very eyes – close enough to touch.

With a smirk, I hoist my rucksack onto my shoulders and step onto the train.

It’s good to be back.

 

-

 

The train begins to move again, and I stumble forwards, quickly grabbing onto a luggage rail so that I don’t make a complete fool of myself. I run a hand through my hair, readying myself, and throw open the door to my carriage, wincing as it crashes against the wall, making my entrance more dramatic than intended.

A few rows ahead, I can see a raven-haired man with his back to me, sat at a table seat. I check my ticket, and, yep – I’m sat opposite him. It’s a bit weird that they’ve sat me with a bloke, but that’s alright. I mean… I’m open to being with a guy, it’s just – I did specify that I was interested in girls on my application form. Perhaps they do the real matchmaking when we’re off the train.

I set myself down in front of him, taking off my rucksack and rummaging through it to get out my water bottle. The bloke hasn’t introduced himself yet, which is a bit weird, so I lift my head to introduce myself. And time slows down.

Tawny skin, black hair, red lips pursed in confusion. Grey eyes, staring at me cooly. (I would know those eyes anywhere.) I resist the urge to scream, digging my nails into the side of the table, as my heart thuds against my chest.

“Baz fucking Pitch,” I say, mouth hanging open.

“Lovely to see you too, Snow.”

Baz puts his earphones in and stares out of the window, effectively blocking me out. My heart sinks a bit, but, really, can I blame him? I hardly greeted him in the friendliest way. It’s just such a shock – it feels like the universe is playing a trick on me. What are the chances of me being on a fucking single’s tour with _Baz Pitch?_

After two minutes of unbearable silence, I grab my phone, racing into the nearest loo and locking the door, sitting down on the lid of the toilet. My knees are crammed up against the sink, but somehow it feels more comfortable than being opposite Baz. (Anywhere is more comfortable than under his gaze.)

I select Penny on speed dial, and she picks up after two rings.

“Why are you calling? Do you realise how much this’ll cost you?” She scolds. I know that she’s right, but this is a state of emergency, and I’m willing to pay the price of international calls, for once.

“Crowley, Penny.” I bring my head down to my knees, pressing my forehead against the edge of the sink. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”

“What? Are you… is something wrong?”

“Yes. _No,_ I mean – I’m probably being dramatic. It just feels like everything is going wrong. Penny… what the fuck am I doing here?”

“Simon, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

She sounds concerned, so I sigh, sitting up and collecting myself. “I’ve had to escape to the toilet. Because Baz Pitch is sat opposite me on the train.”

 _“What?”_ She says, erupting into laughter. I frown. She clearly isn’t taking this seriously whatsoever. “Are you fucking kidding me? That’s the best thing I’ve heard in years.”

“It’s not funny!”

“Out of all the people they could have put you with, they chose Baz Pitch. Brilliant. _Hilarious.”_

I drag my free hand over my face. “I bet he’s plotting already.”

“Are you serious?”

 _“Yes!_ He didn’t manage to finish me off in Watford. Maybe this is his chance.”

“Okay, Simon,” She attempts to suppress her giggles, and I grunt in contempt. “Sure. Baz _definitely_ bought a train ticket to a single’s tour, just for the off-chance of being able to kill you.”

“You never know with Baz. He could be doing anything.”

Her laughter dies down, and I can picture her frowning in the pause that ensues. “We’re not at Watford anymore, babe. It’s been, what, like… ten years?”

“And?”

“Give him a chance, Simon. You were roommates for eight years. _Talk_ to him.”

I find it impossible to come up with another retort. Because she’s right – I’m carrying around these grudges, this _baggage_ from Watford that need to be let go of. Maybe, if I just talk to him, we can leave each other alone. Let each other go. “Okay. _Okay,_ yeah. I’ll talk to him. Yeah.”

“Good. I’m gonna hang up now, because this call is costing you _far_ too much already, and if you talk to me for much longer, Baz will think you’re having a shit.”

My eyes widen, cheeks growing red in horror at Penny’s implication. _“Penny!_ Don’t say that!” The idea of Baz thinking that makes me feel oddly scandalised. Not that it should be a big deal - everyone on Earth shits, after all - but the prospect of Baz seeing me as that one weirdo that takes a dump at the beginning of a long train journey is the last thing I want on his mind.

“You know it’s true!” She laughs, hanging up, and I stand up from the toilet, flushing and washing my hands, just in case somebody is listening. There’s no mirror, which is frustrating, because I have a strange desire to check that I look alright. I run my fingers through my hair, just in case, and open the door, trudging back to my seat, dread lingering in the pit of my stomach.

Baz has taken one of his earphones out. Which means… he wants to talk to me. _Right?_ Is that what that means? I take the possible hint, clearing my throat and watching his eyes return to me.

I rack my brain for something to say, but it’s turned into mush. Because, Crowley… Baz _really_ hasn’t changed at all. (Maybe it’s a vampire thing. Edward Cullen was frozen in time, right?) His hair still looks typically perfect, not even a strand out of place, and he still looks moody, and rich, and… handsome, I guess. (I mean, Agatha used to say he was handsome. I didn’t just come up with that.)

My cheeks flush as I realise that I’ve been staring, and my eyes dart to the window. The scenery isn’t impressive – just endless hills and trees, rolling past each other, blurring into obscurity.

“So… Baz. Um. Do you still like being called that?”

He rolls his eyes, as he always used to. “Obviously. What would the alternative be? Basilton?”

Baz’s tone is playful, so I decide to go along with it. “I dunno, maybe Tyrannus?”

He raises his other earphone to his jaw, slowly bringing it up to his ear, threatening to block me out.

“Wait, wait – stop. I want to talk to you.”

“It didn’t seem so earlier.”

“Yeah, I mean… I was kind of just weirded out, seeing you. It took me by surprise.”

He drops the earphone, and I almost sigh in relief. (Not that it matters, anyway.) “Thought I was plotting, did you?”

“I dunno. It would be something, killing the Mage’s Heir ten years after everyone expected.”

He winces. _“Ex-_ Mage’s Heir. And I’m not plotting, Snow, for Crowley’s sake. This isn’t Murder on the fucking Orient Express.”

“Not yet.”

Baz raises an eyebrow coolly, and eyes me up and down. His eyes are curious, perhaps slightly judgemental, but not vengeful. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Could ask you the same.”

“Except I asked first.” His gaze is intense, challenging me, and I take the bait as I always do.

“Fine. Um. Well. Penny told me to get a ticket.”

He smirks, leaning forward in his seat and twiddling his earphone cord between his fingers. “You’re still following her like a puppy, then? Nothing’s changed there.”

“Yeah, I guess, except it’s a bit harder since she’s in America. Y’know, she gets worried about me. Thinks I’m lonely.”

“Well, are you?”

“Piss off.” I flick my eyes down to the table for a moment, uncomfortable at how frank he’s being. I shouldn’t be surprised.

He softens up slightly, clearly aware that he’s hit a nerve. “What happened to Agatha?”

“She’s in California.”

“Didn’t get your perfect happy ending, then?”

“We didn’t even last until the Leavers’ Ball. Don’t you remember?”

“No. Didn’t pay much attention to your personal life, Snow.”

“But you had a thing for Agatha, right?”

He laughs, an unfamiliar sound that takes me by surprise. “No, Snow. Clearly not.”

 _Clearly not?_ What’s that supposed to mean? Everybody knows that he used to be jealous of Agatha and I back at Watford. It sounds stupid now, but I was always afraid he would steal her away from me. “What?”

“Girlfriends aren’t quite on my agenda.”

“Why are you here, then?”

He rolls his eyes, laughter turning into slight discomfort as he shifts in his seat, fiddling with his sleeve. “Fucking hell, Snow. I’m quite clearly gay.”

A silence ensues as the news sinks in, and I don’t even try to stop my mouth from hanging open slightly. Not that I have a problem with gay people, or anything – I’m hardly the straightest guy in London – but I just never even considered it before. That Baz could be gay. That he could fancy blokes.

He stares at me for a moment, narrowing his eyes in the same way that he used to when I fucked up a spell in Watford. It hits me that he probably feels quite vulnerable, saying that to me. The guy that lived with him for eight years. “Bloody hell. Forget it.”

“Don’t be stupid,” I say, and he almost looks surprised. “That’s fine. That’s cool. Whatever.”

“Thanks for your validation, Snow. Really means a lot.”

I decide to ignore his sarcastic tone. (Mostly because he’s right. I’m overreacting.) “So, you’re looking for a guy here, then?”

“Yeah. It’s desperate, and embarrassing, but yes. Finding a fit guy who is also a mage in the middle of London can be pretty fucking difficult.”

“You wouldn’t want to be with a Normal, then?”

“Crowley, Snow. My family had enough trouble accepting the fact I’m gay. They’d have a fit if I brought a Normal home. It has to be someone Magickal.”

“So you thought you’d find someone on a cheesy train tour?”

He squirms slightly. “Don’t take the piss. You’re here too.”

“You’re right.”

Baz’s eyes light up as soon as the words come out of my mouth; the childish victory he’d had when we were kids.

“Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“Well, yeah, you’re right. I know how you feel, ‘cause, like… when me and Agatha broke up, it was like – I just kind of assumed I would find someone else. Thought I’d bump into a mage in the pub after work or something – just meet someone normally. But it didn’t happen. I’m not immune to the Watford Curse. Neither of us are.”

“The Watford Curse?”

“Yeah. It’s what Penny says – if you don’t find your spouse at Watford, you’ll either be alone or end up on one of these tours, desperately trying to find someone before it’s too late.”

He flushes slightly, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m not desperate. I just thought it might be nice to meet someone.”

I wrinkle my nose, confused, because it sounds like he’s embarrassed. And I can’t think of why, until I realise that Baz never talks about his _feelings._ It’s strange, thinking of him wanting to be with someone. Wanting a relationship. Wanting to care for someone, _love_ someone… “Weird.”

“What?”

“It’s weird, thinking of you wanting love.”

He scoffs. “Oh, I’m such a man of steel, aren’t I?”

“You seemed like one at Watford. You pushed me down the stairs.”

“That was probably, like, what – twelve, maybe even fifteen years ago?”

“So?”

“So, you should forgive and forget, Snow. Crowley.”

I sit back in my seat, eyeing Baz cautiously. It seems, oddly, like he wants to put the past behind us, which is unusual considering that we were enemies.

 _Were_. Perhaps that’s the key word. We _were_ enemies – past tense, ten years ago. Why shouldn’t we move past this?

I open my mouth, words of apology on the tip of my tongue, but Baz is putting his earphones back in before I can say anything, effectively ending our conversation.

Maybe it isn’t going to be that easy, after all.

 

-

 

After half an hour of tactically trying to avoid making eye contact, the arrival of the tea cart finally forces Baz to pull out his earphones. I don’t expect to feel so relieved – but it was a bit weird, not talking to him when he’s right in front of me.

“Hello there, fellas! Would you like a hot drink? Complimentary, of course.” The over-enthusiastic assistant greets us with a slightly too wide grin. I take a peek at Baz, who appears to be physically recoiling at his positivity, and I can barely control my smirk. It’s nice to see that he hasn’t changed _that_ much.

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Baz replies, looking at me with a glint in his eye. “I’ll have a cup of coffee, and get an English breakfast tea for him. Milk and sugar in mine, just milk in his.”

I briefly wonder how he knows my tea order, before remembering the copious amount of tea and scones he must have watched me wolf down all those years ago.

“Cheers,” Baz says, as he takes our drinks from the assistant. I cautiously nod at him as a gesture of thanks, and keep my eyes on him as he relaxes back in his seat, running a hand through his hair as the train assistant begins to walk away. “Oh, wait – where exactly are we going?”

The assistant furrows his brow, as if baffled by the question. “Canterbury, of course.”

“Right. Of course. Thanks.” Baz warms his hands around his cup, looking at me blankly as the assistant moves on to the next carriage. “Fucking hell, I haven’t been there since I was a kid.”

I perk up at his attempt at conversation. “I’ve never been.”

“I would be surprised if you had. It’s not as if they would’ve taken you to a Magickal town when you were in care.”

“Yeah, but I should’ve made the trip when I left Watford, really.” I clasp my hands around my cup, mirroring Baz and feeling the warmth spread through my palms. “How come you didn’t know where we were going?”

“What?”

“Like, did you not read the description on the website?”

His mouth quirks up in amusement. “Crowley, Snow – you think I signed up for this myself?”

“That’s what you said earlier.”

“No, I didn’t. It was a shitty birthday present from Niall. And I went along with it, because…” He winces at himself, taking a small sip of his coffee. “Because, _fine,_ I know I denied it earlier, but… I guess I am a little bit desperate.”

I try to hide my surprise. “I don’t get it. You usually get what you want.”

He watches me, a slight pink tint rising on his cheeks. “And?”

“I don’t see why you getting a boyfriend should be any different.”

Baz’s face gets redder, and he scoffs, staring out at the landscape beyond the glass of the window. And I watch him, because it’s been ten years, and study the ways his face has changed – how it’s become softer, wiser, more open.

Even if I don’t find love on this trip, at least I’ll have some closure. It’s good to know that Baz is doing well, even if he _is_ my enemy.

_(Was.)_

 

-

 

Canterbury is beyond anything I could ever have imagined.

Tudor houses line terraced streets, overlooking grandeur stone statues of saints and heroes. Tourists look up from the bustling crowds almost in a silent state of awe, their feet stumbling slightly on the cobblestone pavements as they attempt to take everything in. It’s an infectious atmosphere – I can feel the wonder rising through my chest.

Yet as much as I would love to experience the city as any Normal, the tour guide is speeding us through the main part of the city so quickly that I can barely stop to admire the sights. Because we’re not heading for the Canterbury loved by Normals – we’re going to the hidden part; the only Magical residential settlement in Britain.

We reach an archway, with a tall, iron gate that you can only pass if you touch the inscription with your magic, just like the gates of Watford. “Fuck,” I mutter, as the others line up, going through one by one.

“What’s the matter, Snow?” Baz says from beside me. I’m not sure how we’re still walking together – I assumed that we’d get far away from each other as soon as the train stopped.

“It’s magic. I – I can’t. It can show itself to me, but I can’t use it.”

He studies me with his eyes, and I brace myself for a cutting remark, asking me to ‘use my words’, or calling me useless. But he just nods, saying nothing and staying by my side until we reach the front of the queue.

Before I can even think, he grabs my arm, placing his hand on the door. “What are you –” I begin to say, but the door opens for us, and he pulls me through before it slams shut again.

The rest of the tour move on, but I stand still. It doesn’t make sense – how did Baz manage to get me past? The Watford gates have a faint memory of me, but I’ve never visited Canterbury. It should have shut for me; magic can’t be tricked.  

Baz looks back at me, frowning slightly. “Come on, Snow. Don’t get left behind.”

I shake my head at him, but jog towards him. “How the _fuck_ did you just do that?”

He rolls his eyes as we catch up to the group, and I pester him again. “How?”

“Drop it, Snow. You’ll figure it out.” He looks irritated, and I would annoy him some more, but I become distracted.

There’s magic in the air. It’s prickling on my skin, thudding into my heart, flowing through my veins. I try to breathe it all in – the atmosphere of casual magic; people doing small spells on the pavement, reheating their coffee or tying their shoelaces. We stop, as the tour guide shows us a monument, but my mind blocks it out. I turn to look at Baz, and his eyes are fluttered shut. They snap open as soon as he feels me looking.

“You don’t feel magic often, then?” I ask.

“No. There’s none of it where I live.”

“Where’s that?”

“Um,” he mumbles, looking down at his feet as we start to walk again. I notice that we’ve fallen to the back of the line. “Canary Wharf.”

 _“Canary Wharf?”_ The rich twat. Of course, he lives there – where everyone is wealthy and single and attractive. He would fit in perfectly.

“It’s not where I want to live forever, but it’s okay for now.”

“How did you manage to get a place there? I mean, I know you’re rich, but – _Crowley,_ Baz.”

He laughs, shrugging before talking again. “I got a degree in economics, became a banker, and ended up in Canary Wharf. It just happened, I don’t know.”

“You left magic behind for good, then?” I can’t hide the slight disappointment in my voice. He was top of our year at Watford, and I don’t like to think of him wasting his talent. I would kill to still have my magic – it feels like there’s a part of me missing without it.

“I’ve done a bit of research on the side, when my father has asked me to. But there’s more money in high-end Normal jobs. I don’t want to spend my life with the Old Families.”

“I thought you used to love all of that. Being in the Magickal aristocracy.”

“Not really. I was just trapped in it. Plus, talking about it pissed you off, which was a bonus.”

I surprise myself by laughing – because I’m actually enjoying a conversation with Baz Pitch. “Fair enough.”

“What are you doing, then?”

“You’re really interested?”

“It’s called small talk, Snow.”

“Oh.” I shouldn’t have expected a friendly answer, but my heart still sinks slightly. “I have a bakery stall at Camden Market, and I live in Camden too. Got a degree in business.”

“You sell any sour cherry scones?”

My eyes light up at the thought of them. “Of course! But they’re not as good as the ones at Watford. Nothing beats those.”

“I’m surprised you’re able to sell anything before you eat it all. I have no idea where all of the shit you eat _goes._ You’re still as skinny as you were back at Watford.” He looks me up and down, and for some reason it makes my body tense up. It’s just… seeing him look at me makes me feel uncomfortable. Because I want him to think that I look good, and I don’t want to consider why that might be. “Look at us now,” he continues, smiling at me in a way I’ve never seen before. “Fucking hell, Snow. What happened to us?”

“What do you mean?” I whisper, because we’ve stopped again, and I can hear the background noise of the tour guide saying some more shit, and I don’t want to ruin the tour for everyone else.

“I mean… neither of us really care about magic anymore.”

“I care about it. I just don’t have it.”

“Right. But magic used to be the main thing we argued about. And now it barely matters. I’m in Canary Wharf, you’re in Camden. We’re basically Normals.”

The tour keeps moving, and Baz follows them. I run to catch him up. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not particularly. I mean, at least you stopped thinking so much about magic and started dressing properly.”

I look down at my grey coat and jeans, laughing. “Is this really what you call style?”

“It’s better than what you wore before. Your uniform or a bloody tracksuit.”

“Yeah, well, your Watford style was hardly great. Always in a suit. And now you’re in –” I take a look at him, properly this time. And my eyes widen at the sight of _denim._ “Jeans… Baz, you’re wearing _jeans.”_

His mouth quirks up at the side in amusement, and my brain feels as if it’s reaching full capacity. “Is that an issue?”

“No. _No,_ they’re nice. They’re fancy. They’re very... tailored.”

“Thank you, I think.” He tries to suppress a laugh. “It’s good that I wore them today, then. Nobody’s caught my eye yet, but you never know. Maybe these jeans will attract everyone around me, and finally save my tragic love life.”

I survey the people walking in front of us, trying to pick someone out for Baz. There’s a tall bloke with black hair, who looks like he would be Baz’s type. “What about that guy, over there? He looks alright.”

“Why don’t you ask him out, then?” Baz laughs, and my face immediately flushes.

“Piss off,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “I meant for you.”

Baz looks over at him, more seriously this time. I watch the way his eyes evaluate him, and his eyebrow slightly raises. It makes my heart feel jumpy, as if I’m waiting desperately for his response.

“Yeah, he’s alright. I’ll go and introduce myself, then. Maybe you should try and talk to someone, too.”

He walks away, and I reach my hand out in front of me slightly, somehow wishing that I’d asked him to stay. Regretting trying to get him to talk to someone that isn’t me. Because now I’m walking alone, and I’m not bothered about meeting anyone else on this tour – not really.

I can see Baz talking to this bloke now. He’s laughing, and then he glances back at me, and my stomach twists.

Because it’s been nice seeing him today – _really_ nice, better than I ever could have expected. And it’s hitting me that I don’t really want Baz to be flirting with guys, or asking them out. Not at all.

 

-

 

The hotel isn’t quite as fancy as the website promised. It’s more three-star than five-star, I heard Baz remark to the random black-haired bloke, and I have to agree with him. Yet it’s still better than my crummy old flat, I suppose.

Dinner is a tacky buffet in a conference room in the back of the hotel. I’m not sure how the organisers think that this menu is creating an aura of romance, but I’m not one to complain about an all-you-can-eat buffet. I load up my plate with sausage rolls, sandwiches, cheese and pineapple sticks, quiche, pizza… until the mountain of food threatens to topple over as I balance it over to an empty table.

Awkwardly, they’ve laid out the seating in tables of two. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, seeing as this is supposed to be a matchmaking tour, but I still sit alone, staring out at the people waiting in the line for the buffet, and wondering which one of them will end up having to sit with me.

I begin to eat, staring down at my food and wilfully ignoring the noise of the chair opposite me scraping against the floor as someone else sits down. Hopefully they will realise that I’m not interested, and would rather be left alone. I don’t have the energy for small talk.

“Alright, Snow?”

I look up, and find Baz, leaning back in his chair and looking cocky as ever, eyebrow raised and arms crossed.

I look back to my food. “I’m surprised you’re sat with me,” I say, and it comes out sulkier than I intended. (I don’t want him to know that I care. I can barely admit it to myself.)

“Who else would I sit with?” He seems amused, and it’s unsettling.

“I dunno. What happened to random black-haired bloke?”

“He’s straight.”

I blink, trying not to make a big deal out of this revelation. “Oh. Okay, cool.”

“Cool?” Baz raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, and my heart thuds.

“Not cool. I mean – that’s fine. They should make us wear badges or something. Like, to say if we’re gay or straight or whatever. Stop us from wasting our time.” I shove a slice of pizza in my mouth, hoping that it’ll help us change the conversation.

“You’re still eating like a pig, then,” he says. I notice that he hasn’t eaten anything – he doesn’t even have a plate in front of him, only a glass of red wine. (Definitely a vampire.) “But that sounds a bit like segregation, Snow. Perhaps not the greatest matchmaking technique.”

“Yeah, but surely you also don’t want to waste your time flirting with straight people. Y’know, when you’ve paid for a train ticket, and all.”

“I guess.” He fiddles with his hair, and I watch his hand catch a loose strand, pulling it back and tucking it behind his ear. “What would your badge say, Snow?”

I don’t know how to answer. It feels like the most important question in the world – because nobody has ever asked me that before, but I feel like somewhere deep within me, I know the answer. It all makes sense.

I meet his eyes across the table. “Open minded.”

He smirks, swilling his red wine around in his glass. “Good to know.”

And at that precise moment, as my heart rises into my throat, I realise that I’m completely fucked.

 

-

 

Baz walks me up to my hotel room, and something feels off. Because we’ve never really walked in a corridor together – he used to just be there, waiting in our room in Mummer’s House, taking ages in the bathroom and making snarky comments when I couldn’t do my homework.

“Feels weird being with you and not sharing a room,” I say.

He smiles softly at me, hands in his coat pockets. “Goodnight, Snow,” he says, walking past me, towards his room. Part of me wants to call after him – to say something, _anything_ – but I simply unlock my hotel room door, stretch out on my bed and lazily scroll through social media, a blind distraction to try and make me forget.

There’s only one more night left. One more night, and I can be at home, on my own, without my instincts threatening to take over. One more night, and Baz will be out of my life for good.

(Yet I’m not sure how much of a good thing that really is.)

 

-

 

The next morning, we’re on the train to Watford.

I focus on the trees rushing past us, counting the stations until we get there. I know it’s close – because I can feel the magic bubbling in the air, filling my lungs with the feeling of home.

Once we arrive and the tour begins, Baz and I fall to the back of the line, once again. He’s doing this act where he pretends as if he doesn’t care about being back at Watford, but I can see the warm look in his eyes, the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. I hate how endearing it is.

“This,” the tour guide announces, “is the White Chapel. Historically, we are unaware of its purpose. All we know is that it is the oldest building at Watford, and that it lies above the Catacombs. More recently, it is the place of death of the last Mage, and marked the transition of the Coven being the highest power.”

I’m not surprised that I don’t get a mention. The prophecy was never about me, anyway – I was just a boy with too much magic. It was probably a relief to the Coven when I lost it here. As the tour guide leads everybody inside, I hang back, instead sitting on a bench, staring up at the stained-glass windows adorning the building.

Baz hovers next to me. “You don’t want to go in?”

“No,” I reply, looking down at my feet. “It’s a bit too much.”

He nods as if he understands, sitting down next to me. “I don’t know how you can enjoy being here. Watford fucked you over.”

“It’s okay,” I lie. Because although I feel as if I belong here, as if my roots are still tethered to this place, it still feels sad. It’s not my home now; not without Ebb, or Penny. I can feel magic thrumming in my bones, yet it’s not tangible, anymore. It’s not mine to keep. “It’s nice being back.”

He shifts, resting his left calf against his right thigh, foot almost kicking my leg. “Remember all those times you stalked me in the Catacombs?”

“And I found you in there, drunk. And singing about the plague, or something. I never understood that.”

Baz pauses, thinking about what to say. He’s trying to be careful with how he answers me, but it barely matters. I know that he’s a vampire. But for the first time, I’m not eager for him to tell me. Because I don’t care anymore.

I cut in before he can speak. “You don’t have to explain anything, like why you were down there. It doesn’t matter.”

“My mother’s grave is down there, you know. I visited her almost every night. It kept me sane.”

I feel a pang of shame; guilt for following him around for all those years. I never gave him a break. “You should visit her.”

“Later. I’ll sneak off when you’re all having lunch.”

The cold wind whistles towards us, and I pull my coat tighter against my body. “Fuck. They’re taking ages in there.”

“We should go inside, somewhere. Out of the cold.”

“Is that allowed?”

“Probably not. But it’s the school holidays, and I can’t see Miss Possibelf lurking anywhere, so who gives a shit?”

Baz grins at me, and giddiness rises in my chest as I smile back – because it’s been so long since I did something like this. Sneaking in somewhere; doing something that makes me feel mischievous.

We stand up, starting to walk towards Mummer’s House, until we hear the rumble of the tour behind us, walking out of the White Chapel. I expect Baz to turn back, but instead he looks at me with a glint in his eye, grabbing my wrist. “Run,” he whispers, and I do.

Adrenaline pumps through my chest as we leg it towards the building – I can barely keep the smile off my face as we push ourselves through the door, stumbling into the corridor. I lean against the wall, panting heavily, and smile at Baz who is looking at me with a raised eyebrow, chest rising and falling, as he takes his coat off, slinging it over his forearm.

Yet mostly, my heart feels warm that the door remembers us. It remembers that we lived here, once – this place used to be ours. “It remembers us,” I laugh, clutching my side. “It actually remembers us.”

“I think we’re a bit hard to forget,” Baz says, looking at me coolly, propping his elbow up against the wall, hair falling into his face. And my heart almost collapses – because I know exactly how he’s making me feel.

He makes me feel like a teenager again. That feeling that I can do anything – like I have unlimited possibilities and a universe at my feet. These past couple of days, I’ve had more fun than I’ve had for a long time. And I don’t want things to go back to how they were before. I don’t want to lose this.

I catch my breath, placing a hand on the bannister. “Wanna go and see if our room’s still there?”

“Of course it’s still there,” he laughs, but follows me up the stairs anyway.

And once we swing the door open, my shoulders almost droop in relief – because everything is still there. It’s all in place. Our twin beds, desks and chairs, the large windows looking out to the Hills Beyond, the stain on the ceiling above my bed – it’s almost exactly the same.

We lean side by side on the doorframe, not wanting to go in. It feels like that would be overstepping a boundary – it’s bad enough that we’re even here. Because it’s someone else’s now.

“It’s hard to believe it’s not still ours,” I say, breaking the silence between us.

“Yeah, I know.” His voice almost sounds soft; reminiscent. It’s hard to believe that we were enemies, when he sounds like this. “I can almost see you sat over there, growling at your homework.”

“Or you stumbling in, in the middle of the night.”

“Or you leaving the windows open to try and make me freeze to death.”

I look down, laughing softly. “Or you fighting me until I reminded you of the Anathema.”

“It was definitely the other way around.” He’s laughing, too, and my heart feels like it’s being weighed down in my chest.

Opening my mouth, I attempt to find the words to explain how I feel, but it simply hangs open for a few seconds. There’s something gnawing at my chest, something that feels like a mixture of regret and even _guilt_ , as I stare at the empty beds.

“You alright?” Baz asks, and I’m almost surprised that he can tell I’m upset. But that’s a stupid thought, because of course he knows, he _always_ knows, and I think that’s precisely the point. He knows my subtleties better than anyone, and yet we remained so distanced. It doesn’t make sense.

“It just seems a shame. How we weren’t like this back at Watford.”

There’s a glint in his eye. “Like what?”

“Like…” I pause, because I don’t even know how to explain our relationship now. “Like feeling comfortable around each other.”

He looks down at his feet, struggling to find the words. “It wasn’t our time. I was controlled by my parents, and you were controlled by the Mage.” He snarls as he says his name, old hatred still evident. “It can’t have happened.”

“I know. But things would be so different, if we never had to hate each other.”

Baz meets my eyes. “I never hated you, Snow. Not really.”

I could kiss him. We’re inches apart, and his eyes are soft, and I could kiss him. Kiss away those wasted years we could have spent as friends, or even more. I can’t believe I never considered this at Watford. (I’m beginning to think that I must have. I thought about him the entire time I was here.)

It’s tempting, as my eyes flicker down to his lips, but I pull away from the doorframe. “We should go,” I say, snapping the moment in two. “The rest of the tour might be looking for us.”

Lips pursed, he shuts the door, walking down the stairs. I watch the muscles of his back adjusting through his shirt as he moves, and he turns around at the bottom of the flight, raising an eyebrow.

“You coming?”

I nod, following him down the stairs, looking back at our old door for a final time, feeling nostalgia cascade over me; a tide of reminiscence.

 

-

 

The train journey back to the hotel is long. We don’t speak, and there’s nothing special about the scenery outside of our window – grasslands, emptiness. Baz stares out at it, as if it holds the answers to all his questions.

I take advantage of his distraction, and trace his jawline with my eyes, the sharp edges blurring into the softness of his cheek, the tiredness of his eyes. I want to smooth out his furrowed brow with my fingertips – help him relax, stop him from thinking.

We enter a tunnel, and the carriage plunges into darkness, only the flicker of the emergency lights painting a faint green glow in the corner of my eye. It directs my gaze to Baz’s right hand, resting on the table between us, barely visible in the low light.

Before I allow myself to think, I brush my fingers against his skin. My nerves are alight as I gently caress the back of his hand, tracing patterns, and not daring to look up. (Because I can feel him looking at me, and it would be too much if I met his eyes. I don’t think I can handle that. I barely even know what I’m doing.)

My mind flicks back to yesterday in Canterbury - when Baz let me through the inscripted gate. I remember something from Watford, now, something that we learnt about the power of magic bridging relationships between mages and Normals, or someone that has lost their own magic.

There’s a spell that can only be cast if there is love behind the notion. A spell that permits non-magical people to be in closed-off, Magickal areas, if they’re with a mage that loves them. It’s the only way I can think that he could have gotten me through that gate. If there’s something between us. If he loves me.

I look up at him, suddenly unafraid, and intertwine our fingers.

 

-

 

Baz walks me up to my room when we return to the hotel. There’s something between us – unspoken words, uncertainty.

“Goodnight, Snow,” Baz says, leaning on the wall outside my door.

“Goodnight.”

I turn away before I can do anything impulsive, shutting my door firmly behind me. And then I close my eyes, because I can feel something. His magic, sparking in the corridor. Like fire. (It’s always been fire with Baz.) It sets something alight in the pit of my stomach, something like _desire,_ and before I can even take my coat off, I’m out in the corridor again.

“Baz?” I call out, and he turns around, mouth quirked up into a smile. “Just – just come in here, will you?”

He almost runs down the corridor, in the most ungraceful, un-Baz way I have ever seen, stopping centimetres in front of me. I look up at him; lips slightly parted, his chest rising and falling, our noses almost touching. He looks like he wants to say something, but I don’t give him a chance before I pull him into my room, shutting the door behind us.

Baz is up against the door, and I hesitate for a moment. I haven’t thought any of this through – exactly what I’m feeling, and whether he definitely feels the same. But I could swear that the room is charged with _something_ – something as strong as magic, that pulls me towards him, impulses taking over.

It’s him that kisses me first.

His hands are on my forearms, tentative, nervous – and I bring my hands to his hair, bunching it up into my hands, reassuring him, biting on his bottom lip, taking the lead. I push him over to my bed, letting him go for a moment, and he’s lying down, watching me. I can barely believe that this is happening.

I shrug my coat off (I can’t believe that I’m still wearing that fucking thing), throwing it to the floor and leaving my t-shirt with it, climbing on top of Baz, knees either side of his body. His mouth is open, and it hits me that I might be overstepping a boundary. Acting too much by impulse, as usual.

“Are you okay with this?” I ask, suddenly feeling insecure.

He laughs softly, skating his hands against my chest, up until they’re resting behind my shoulders, cold hands creating goosebumps on the back of my neck. “I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he whispers, and I sigh, a mixture of relief and longing. I feel as if I’m disintegrating under his touch. “I’m more than okay with this, Simon.”

It’s me that connects our lips this time.

 

-

 

We leave for home the next morning, except Camden isn’t my first destination – I end up staying the night at Baz’s in Canary Wharf. (I’ve already nicknamed it the ‘posh twat flat’, which Baz is disgruntled by.)

Penny’s on Skype to me, now, and Baz is sat on the other side of the computer, trying not to laugh at how clueless she is.

“Simon, you’re dressed in your boxers in a flat that isn’t yours,” she says, sounding unimpressed through my shitty speakers. “Who did you meet on that train?”

“Nobody!” I insist, watching Baz’s face light up from in front of me, seeking an opportunity.

“Now now, Simon,” he says, and I see Penny’s face flicker in confusion. “I’m definitely not ‘nobody’.”

“I know that voice,” Penny says, eyes darting around, searching, as she thinks. Eventually, her mouth hangs open, and she stares straight at her camera, as she exclaims, “Simon. Forgive me if I’m wrong. But... are you – are you having sex with _Baz fucking Pitch?”_

Baz and I start to laugh as he moves into frame, and Penny’s hands grip the side of her laptop screen at the sight of us. “Snow doesn’t kiss and tell, Bunce,” Baz says, grin growing wider at Penny’s shocked reaction. “Nice to see you, by the way. It’s been a while.” He turns to me, kissing me on the nose, and she shrieks.

“Micah!” She shouts to her husband off screen. “We need to visit London as soon as possible!”

“Oh, so I won our agreement, then?” I laugh to her, and Baz raises an eyebrow.

“What agreement?” He asks, obviously confused.

“Penny said that she would only come and visit if I met someone really hot on the tour.”

“Oh, shit,” he grins, putting his hand on the small of my back, drawing me closer to him. “You think I’m hot?”

I lean in to kiss him, and Penny clears her throat.

“Um, guys? I’m still here, you know?” She starts to giggle, and we look at her in amusement. “Crowley. This makes sense. You two. It makes _so much sense.”_

She hangs up, and we burst out laughing, only stopping when Baz’s eyes grow soft, and he gently skates his hand against my chest.

“She’s right,” he says, eyes filled with unbridled joy that makes my heart soar. “We do make sense.”

I grin so widely that my cheeks ache, and kiss him again, and again, and again. Because I don’t ever want to stop kissing him, and now I don’t have to.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the amazing @velvetnoodle (on tumblr) for beta-ing and helping me to feel confident in my writing again! <3
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this fic, and that it's a sufficient apology for not posting in a couple of months :D Feedback is appreciated as always, and feel free to [reblog on tumblr](https://rainbowbaz.tumblr.com/post/169522786614/recapture-the-magic) if you enjoyed!


End file.
